


Fortune's Favor

by kopycat_101



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety Attacks, Bisexual Character, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexual Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Bullying, Chat Noir Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Gay Marc Anciel, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Ladybug Marc Anciel, M/M, Marc Anciel Is A Mess, Marc has two moms and he loves them!, Miraculous Holder Marc Anciel, Miraculous Holder Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Miraculous Ladybug But Make It Gayer, Nonbinary Marc Anciel, Panic Attacks, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23488903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kopycat_101/pseuds/kopycat_101
Summary: Marc Anciel becomes the superhero Suerte, and paradoxically becomes more confident and more of a paranoid wreck. Nathaniel Kurtzberg becomes the superhero Panther, and becomes bolder and much more willing to let his emotions out. Both also realize they’re gayer than they first thought. This is all very much connected.Alternatively: Marc gets the Ladybug Miraculous. Nathaniel gets the Cat Miraculous. Can I make it any more obvious?
Relationships: Marc Anciel & Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Marc Anciel/Nathaniel Kurtzberg
Comments: 9
Kudos: 46
Collections: MarcNath Fics!





	Fortune's Favor

**Author's Note:**

> Me, with absolutely zero impulse control, who's only watched like a dozen episodes of Miraculous Ladybug: I have this cute little AU concept but idk if I'll even write it, lol.
> 
> Also me, already writing over three thousand words for an intro chapter: Hmmmmmm this is. Unexpected.

* * *

Marc…wasn’t exactly the biggest fan of school.

Sure, he’s going to a relatively nice school. College Francois Dupont is dedicated to the arts— which while not a rarity, per se, it was notable for it being an arts-oriented school for younger students. Most art schools were universities, and notoriously tricky to get into.

The application process for Dupont was simple—show off one creative talent in a portfolio, and if it was good enough for the school, you got accepted. Dupont kept things loose, as well, when it came to artistic talents. Marc’s seen applications from things like music, to fashion design, to even comic books.

Even _he_ could get in, with his stories.

The thing was…well. Marc was a naturally shy and anxious person, and rather soft-spoken to boot.

He was an easy target for bullying, even in his past schools. People kept mistaking him for a girl, and apparently, guys can’t look ‘pretty’ or else that’s reason enough to throw slurs.

Which is dumb, because they live in _Paris_ , of all places. Paris is pretty open about gay people, but, whatever. Rude people like to be rude and bigoted no matter who it’s against, his moms have told him, and he’s learned that truth the hard way.

So, Marc is naturally a bit shy and reserved, and he’s used to getting picked on, so he makes himself small and scarce whenever possible.

He tends to keep his notebook on him at all times, within his grasp, because he’s had one too many times where a bully has taken it. He keeps his bookbag with him everywhere he goes, securely in his grip at all times, and he always makes sure to double-check it.

It’s how he notices the little black box snuck in his bookbag that wasn’t there before.

Sequestered under the shady nook of a staircase—a great place to hide, because no one ever thinks to look _under_ the stairs—Marc stares down at the mystery box in his hands.

It’s black, and small, fitting in the palm of his hand. It’s a gorgeous little box, too, a sort of octagon-shaped thing with carefully-painted filigree on it.

This must be some sort of prank, is his first thought. No one gifts him things, unless they’re doing it to make fun of him. It’s something that happened to him a lot in his past school.

But…This was Dupont. He was still new to this school. Literally here on the first day of classes. Would anyone really know him enough to bully him so soon into the school year…?

And the box seems too intricately designed for just a simple prank, too. Who’d go out their way to get a fancy jewelry box to prank the new kid before first period?

With shaking fingers, Marc fumbles with the box, lifting the lid.

Inside lays a pair of earrings, of all things. Odd. Sure, his ears were pierced, but he specifically took them out this morning so no one would notice and pick on him for it. So how would…

Unless, maybe… Maybe his moms decided to give these to him as a gift? For his first day of school? It’s possible that Mama Carmen slipped them in his bag when he wasn’t looking, while she fussed over him to eat his breakfast this morning, even when he whined about being too nervous to eat anything.

Yes, it’s possible. He swore he triple-checked his bag since he left school, but maybe he was too nervous to notice.

It’s not like there was any other point where he didn’t keep one hundred percent attention to his bag…

His mind flashes to that morning, helping that old man from almost getting run over by a passing car near the front of the school. It wasn’t anything _too_ dramatic—the old man obviously couldn’t see too well, as he nearly started to walk before the crosswalk turned green to signal it was clear.

It’s like his body moved on autopilot. Marc saw the man step onto the street, and his arm flashed out. Marc grabbed onto the man’s shoulder and bodily jerked him back onto the sidewalk, apologizing all the while, as the car that passed honked angrily at them. His Mama, of course, honked back, absolutely outraged as she bustled out of the car, coming up to ask the elderly Asian man if he was alright.

The old man thanked them profusely, bowing—probably because he was Asian and that was a big thing about politeness in most Asian countries?—and then patted Marc on the arm, before he wandered off.

Marc had nearly dropped his notebook during the ordeal, so filled with adrenaline, but everything turned out fine.

It’s not like that old man could have slipped anything into his bookbag, right? Marc would’ve definitely noticed…

Marc blinks down at the box in his hands, refocusing. Right, he had a mystery box, and it has earrings in it.

Marc carefully takes the earrings out, holding them close to inspect. They’re round, glittering like rubies, but they have little black spots on them. Like little ladybugs.

Well, that was…actually _super_ adorable.

A thrum of fondness hits him, then. These earrings fit perfectly with his outfit and other accessories. And they were cute, to boot.

His moms really did know him well.

Maybe he should put them on before class starts? He could slip into a nearby bathroom and see how they look. And if he gets too nervous, he can just take them off and put them back in the box, and no one would be the wiser.

So, Marc does that. He carefully shuts the lid on the box, shoves the box in his hoodie pocket, and carefully shuffles his way to a nearby bathroom, making sure to keep his head down.

No one else is there, thankfully. Or else he might get some weird looks and awkward questions on why he’s trying out earrings in the boys’ bathroom…

He goes to a mirror placed over a sink, taking the box back out and uncovering it, staring down at the beautiful earrings.

Well, these were a gift, right? And from Mama, too. It would be rude if he didn’t at least try them on.

So he does.

And then things sort of go downhill from there, because then a floating monster-bug, rat, _thing_ pops out, and it starts to _talk_ , and Marc screams bloody murder.

* * *

Marc spends the next five minutes having a panic attack, locking himself in a bathroom stall and hyperventilating.

“Hey, are you okay…?” A voice asks, knocking gently on the stall door. Marc startles and squeaks.

A second voice comes out from the other side of the door. “Dude, we heard a loud scream in here! It sounded like someone getting ax-murdered!” The second boy sounds a lot more confident and brash than the first.

“I-I-I…” Marc strangles out, having the floating red-black thing from before hovering near him and frantically shaking its little head to and fro.

“Please, Marc,” the Cursed animal says in a small, high-pitched voice. He claps a hand over his mouth to block his answering scream as is floats closer to him. “Please, don’t tell them about me! You have to keep me a secret!”

Well, not like anyone would believe him or anything, even if he _did_ say anything…

“Um, do you need the nurse…?” comes from the locked stall door. The first boy, from before. His voice is quiet, but full of concern, and it makes Marc’s heart stutter in his chest.

“I-I think I s-saw a h-h-huge rat!” Marc splutters out his answer. While it’s _technically_ a lie, he’d first thought the magical…floating… _thing_ was a rat, so…

“Dude, that’s pretty gnarly!” says the second boy, voice almost a whoop.

“I-I didn’t think there’d be a rat problem in Dupont…” the first boy says, sounding faint and horrified. “That’s…genuinely disgusting.”

“I dunno, it’s kinda cool?”

“Only you, Kim…” the first boy sighs. Marc tightens his arms around his knees, one eye warily on the floating monstrosity that is looking at him with soulful, sapphire-blue eyes, the other half of his attention on the conversation just outside his stall door. “Anyways, I don’t think I see any rats here? So, you should come out, um…”

“I-In a minute,” Marc warbles out, still panicked. “Th-thank y-y-you for your c-concern!”

“Well, classes will start soon, so just…Try not to be late, I guess?” And once more, that quiet voice is concerned, as if genuinely worried for Marc’s wellbeing. It…bolsters something in Marc’s heart.

Marc hums his assent, completely and utterly unwilling to move from his spot.

“Good luck then,” the boisterous one—Kim?—snorts out.

Marc waits, ears trained on the noises of the bathroom door opening and closing. He waits, thinking he’s alone, when—

“If you really don’t feel well, you should go to the nurse’s office, you know,” says the concerned boy from before, as his parting words. Marc stills, fists knuckle-white, only relaxing until he hears the door open and close once more.

He was alone again. Thank God.

That’s when the floating demon-bug-thing decides to speak again.

“I’m so sorry for scaring you, Marc,” it—she? he? they?—says. It flies over to be at eye-level with Marc, and he bites down a screech, but just barely.

On closer look, it…it’s red with black spots. Almost like a ladybug, but, like, mutated? If that makes sense.

“W-W-What are you?” Marc whimpers.

“I’m Tikki,” the little demon says gently, smiling comfortingly at him. “And it’s a bit hard to explain, but now you have superpowers because of me.”

* * *

Marc knows he’s missing first period, but he doesn’t care. He stays inside the boys’ bathroom, and listens as Tikki explains things about Kwami and Akuma and The Miraculouses.

It’s sort of unbelievable.

Then again, the entire situation itself is unbelievable.

Him? Having superpowers? Fighting bad guys? Seems fake, but okay.

But there was a literal floating fairy-like being in front of his very face, which could talk, so like. It was very hard to dispute, right now.

Like, apparently the Ladybug Miraculous was super good luck and has the powers of creation? That's. That's so _wild_ to think.

Marc pinches himself just to check that he somehow still isn’t dreaming, and, nope. This is definitely real.

“Wh-Why me, though…?” Marc asks Tikki, voice small, wrapping his arms around himself and hunching down. “I-I-I’m t-too much of a coward a-and an anxious mess to be a—a _superhero_!”

“You were gifted a Miraculous for a reason, Marc,” Tikki soothes him, staring at him with those soulful blue eyes of…theirs? Finding out pronouns for Tikki was hard, because, sure, Tikki had prominent eyelashes—but so did Marc, and he was a guy, thank you very much. Eyelashes didn’t equal gender like in some sort of stupid cartoon.

“Marc…?”

“S-Sorry!” he squeaks, pulled out from his earlier reverie. “Sorry, I was just. Wondering w-what pronouns you used…?”

Tikki just tilted their head, and Marc explained, “I mean, you don’t have to have a gender or use pronouns or anything, but it…would at least make things a little easier when thinking about you in my head, and it feels sort of rude t-to assume anything? I hate it when people misgender me, s-so I don’t like doing it to anyone else, you know?”

Tikki smiled brightly at him, voice sweet and soft. “You really _do_ have a good heart, Marc…Worrying about others shows that you deserve your Miraculous.”

Marc sputters, not knowing what else to say in response. He’s not used to compliments, or very good at taking them in the first place, so how exactly is he supposed to take a compliment from a literal god-sprite-fairy-thing?

Kwamis, even explained to him, make absolutely _no_ sense. Sue him.

“And anyways, technically all the Kwami are genderless,” Tikki goes on, twirling in place, “But we choose what gender presentation we want to be! I like being a girl, since most of my past Miraculous holders were women.”

“O-Oh, alright,” Marc nods, sighing out his relief at finding at least _one_ solution that made sense in all this mess. “That’s very helpful, Miss Tikki.”

“Just Tikki is fine!” Tikki chides him, looking amused. “We’re partners after all, Marc!”

“A-Alright Mi—um. Tikki,” he nods agreeably, biting his lip nervously before he asks, “It…It doesn’t bother you that, um, that you…got partnered up with a boy, this time around?” _With me?_ goes unsaid.

“Not at all!” Tikki says warmly, a big smile on her alien face. “All I care about is if my partner is kind and hard-working and brave.”

“W-Well, sorry to say, but…I’m not exactly that third one,” Marc admits, feeling so ashamed he can’t even look at her, ducking his head. “I…I-I’m not brave, or strong or…Anything a superhero should be.”

“Marc…”

And that’s when the tears came. The realization hits him.

This is _really_ happening. Someone is telling him he could be a superhero, when it’s the farthest thing he could ever be.

He’s not brave, or strong, or anything that makes a hero. He’s not even able to stand up for himself against stupid bullies! How can he be expected to protect others—to protect the _entirety of Paris_ —if he can’t even protect _himself_!

This is what spills out from his mouth, warbled and hiccupping through his tears, explaining to Tikki how much of an ill fit he is for this role of hero.

“Y-You should…You should find someone else,” Marc sniffles, trying in vain to wipe the tears that just won’t stop coming. “A-All I know how to do is cry, see?” His sobs redouble, and he buries his face in his hands. “I-I’m pathetic!”

“Marc, no! No, you’re not! You were chosen…!”

But he’s not listening anymore.

Marc keeps crying, and in a fit of pure despair and irritation—too overwhelmed by the situation, too tired of the pitying assurances from little Tikki—he yanks the Miraculous from his ears.

“Marc, no! _Please_!” Tikki yells, frantic, flying in and trying to bat at his hands, but the irritation swells, and he doesn’t allow her to take the earrings from his clenched fist.

He takes the box from his hoodie pocket, places the earrings back, and slams it closed.

And Tikki disappears.

* * *

Marc cries well into second period, and at this point, he’s so fucking exhausted emotionally that he just…He can’t even go to class.

So he pulls out his cell, and with a heavy heart, he calls Mama Carmen to pick him up.

“Oh…Oh, _mijo_ ,” Mama breathes from the other side of the line, voice full of sympathy. “Marc, you should have told me earlier that you were having a panic attack at school! Give me ten minutes, and I’ll be right there, okay?”

“Okay…” he agrees weakly, sniffling, before ending the call.

He feels guilty and weak. He didn’t even step foot into class, already breaking down before he can even meet his new classmates in his new school, and he’s having one of his moms bail him out already.

God, he really is pathetic, huh?

He doesn’t deserve to be a superhero.

* * *

Mama Carmen sits him down in the kitchen when they get home. Before he knows it, Marc has a mug of Mama’s special _atol_ _é_ hot chocolate in his hands, a plate with a tasty-looking _pan dulce_ in front of him.

“You didn’t eat properly at breakfast,” Mama says, part concerned and part chiding, as she sits at the table with him, working on one of her seamstress orders. “So eat up, alright? You’ll feel better with something sweet in you.”

He sniffles, feeling embarrassed but safe, nibbling on the sweet pastry bread and sipping at his hot chocolate. Mama hums an idle toon as she works in the seat across from him, hemming what looks like a pair of suit’s pants, mane of curly hair pulled back in a ponytail to keep out of the way.

It’s a startingly typical scene, really. This always happens after Marc comes home crying from his bullies, or crying because of his panic attacks, or crying because he’s overwhelmed by the world.

Marc cries a lot, and it’s…a sort-of constant thing.

His moms don’t judge him, just cluck sympathetically and murmur that he’s a sensitive and soft-hearted boy. It’s fine if he cries, they say. Boys should be allowed to cry.

He knows that. But… he also sort of hates how easily he cries, too.

After he finishes his mug—savoring the warmth as it fills and sooths his belly—Mama pecks him on top the head and declares, “You can miss the rest of today. I’ll just drop you off tomorrow and say that you were too sick to come in the first day.”

Marc feels a swell of relief at this assurance.

“Now, go upstairs and relax. Take a nap or write something,” Mama says, patting his cheek and smiling fondly at him. “I’ll call you down to help me with lunch later.”

“Okay,” he rasps, and on impulse, buries himself in her arms in a hug.

“It’ll be fine, _mijo_ ,” Mama whispers into his hair, holding him tight, an all-encompassing warmth. Her musky scent, something floral and distinctly Mama Carmen, fills his senses, and it makes him feel safe. “Dupont will be a good place for you. I just know it. Don’t let this rough start change your opinion on it, okay?”

Marc hums, nodding into her collarbone, and finally lets go. “I…I won’t.”

“Good,” she grins, ruffling his hair. “Now, go wash your mug and plate, and head up to your room. You’re lucky I’m making one of your favorites for dinner.”

Marc’s eyes widen, and he gasps, pulling away from her embrace. “Really?!”

“It was supposed to be as a congratulations for your first day of school,” she says, not unkindly, while giving him a knowing look. “But it will also work wonders as a comfort food as well, I’m sure.”

He lurches forwards to pull Mama into another quick hug. “Thank you! You’re the best!”

Mama laughs warmly. “ _Tienes suerte_ , you know? Your favorite dishes are always the hardest to make.” Marc ducks his head and flushes sheepishly, while she laughs once more and ruffles his hair. “Oh, and make sure to tell your Mom that, too, when she gets home from work,” she drawls, an impish twinkle in her warm, brown eyes.

“That you’re the best?”

“Yes. Which I am.” She gives a cheesy, exaggerated wink, and he giggles. “Now, run along, my little lucky charm.”

“Yes, Mama,” he smiles, going cross-eyed as she boops him on the nose. He picks up his mug and plate, and goes to rinse them out like he’s supposed to, before making his way to exit the kitchen. He pauses, a hand on the doorway. “I’ll see you for lunch?”

“We’ll start prepping in about two hours,” Mama nods, already sitting down to go back to her sewing. “Again, if you take a nap, I’ll wake you up, alright?”

“I might just do that,” Marc sighs, hands tight on the strap of his bookbag. “’Til later, Mama.”

“’Til later, _mijo_.”

* * *

When Marc gets to his room, he dumps his bookbag on the desk.

And then the flap opens, and out spills the little black box that started this whole mess.

Before he knows what he’s doing, Marc picks up the little box.

He looks down at it, surveying the box. It’s still a pretty box, as delicate and well-decorated as it was before.

It still holds those fantastical ladybug-themed earrings. The Ladybug Miraculous.

Marc places the little box in one of his desk drawers, and vows to find someone better suited to be a superhero to give it to.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I love Marc so much, he is my son and I would give the world to him in a heartbeat. So why must I make him suffer...? It's for the Character Development. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> We get a cameo from unnamed Nathaniel this chapter, though! Look at my son. So concerned, so helpful. Love him.
> 
> Yes, I gave Marc two moms. Yes, I made one of them Latina. No, I will not be taking criticism at this time.
> 
> Spanish terms:
> 
> Mijo= means ‘son’  
> Atolé= A traditional Mexican hot beverage, usually made with corn. Some versions have chocolate, so it's considered a type of hot chocolate.  
> Pan dulce= literally translating to ‘sweet bread’. They’re usually pastries.  
> Tienes suerte= literally translating to ‘You have luck’, it’s a phrase to say that ‘You’re lucky’/someone is lucky.


End file.
